Sinful Succulence
by Peshomaro
Summary: The people of Runeterra have been amazed time and again by the eccentric behavior of many of the champions which do battle in the League of Legends. Perhaps one of the most unbelievable, or rather the most unlikely, turn of events was when Morgana, The Fallen Angel, decided to pursue her interests and become a baker. And if she can do it, then what about a mighty Rokkar warrior?


Prologue

It was quiet. The first rays of the sun fell upon the ruins and forests of Summoner's Rift. An ethereal mist was rising from the areas along the riverbank. It covered the Field of Justice in a thin veil which was soon dispersed by the morning wind. One could almost describe the scene as tranquil. This peaceful scenery was short-lived however, as the echoes of war soon pierced the calmness of the battleground and thus marked the beginning of a new day of battle.

On each side of the Rift, five figures emerged, seemingly out of thin air. Behind the purple Nexus, the champions began to head out, each moving at a fast pace in order to reach and secure their positions on time, all of them but one. She stood at the center of the Summoning Circle even after the rest of her team had spread out. Her dark violet hair partially covered her facial features, but even with a glance one could immediately notice her beauty. That was not an uncommon sight in the League of Legends. In fact, it was so common that every female champion of the League could successfully run for the Miss Valoran title, that there were whispers amongst commoners and summoners alike about the methods and criteria by which these champions were approved by the League's Council in the first place. Her beauty, however, was different. The otherworldly feeling she emitted was undeniable. Behind her lips were hidden a pair of prolonged, sharp canines and in combination with her pale skin, it would be impossible to mistake her for a mere human. Even if she could be taken as one, albeit one that had been deceased for hours, the giant black-feathered, torn wings that grew from her back and her pupil-less eyes, brimming with power were evidence enough of her nature: A fallen angel.

Morgana had an expression of utter apathy towards what was happening around her. At least on the surface. She was too proud to actually allow those she considered inferior to read her emotions but this time her frustration got the better of her. A displeased frown made its way across her face. Her normal aura of mysteriousness and trademark enigmatic attitude towards the League matches was now replaced by irritation and despite her efforts to control it, any careful spectator could see – that was one pissed off angel. It wouldn't take the genius of the Piltover academic society to deduce the reason either, a single glance at her attire, combined with the early hour at which the match was taking place, would allow even those with mediocre investigating capabilities to guess what was vexing her.

"It was rude to summon me an hour earlier." – Her calm tone and regal demeanor were barely able to hide how displeased she was with this.

"_The match was moved to an earlier time due to another fight which is scheduled after it_" – the arrogant, young sounding voice of her summoner echoed in her mind.

She fixed her oven mitts and carefully tilted her baking hat. To anyone who was unfamiliar with her activities outside the Fields of Justice Morgana would look utterly out of place with her long, black cooking apron and white chef shirt. Years ago, none would dare imagine that the Fallen One had any other real interests apart from plotting how to bring untold pain and ultimate defeat to her sister, Kayle. However, she showed all of Runeterra that her talents spread further than anyone thought. Not only her pastries became a favorite delight for children and adults alike, but through her clever and bold marketing strategy Morgana established "Sinful Succulence" as a successful brand in most of the city-states."_Just when the oven reached the perfect temperature too…_" She thought to herself.

Through the summoning link established between her and her appointed summoner, she could sense him urging her to join her allies. "_Start moving, fallen one. The others have been long ready and our battle strategy is set._"

Her eyes began to brim with energy for a moment. Through the link she was able to hear the agony which she caused the insolent young mage.

"_ OW!STOP_!"

She ceased her mental assault on the brash summoner. There was no need to harm him and get into a needless argument with the High Council of the League over one youngling who forgot his place. "_You are a thousand years too young to attempt that tone with me, novice_."

Her summoner got the not-so-subtle message and changed his tone to a more respectful one. She then proceeded to heading down the middle lane of Summoner's Rift.

"Let's just get this over with. Fast." – she said with an apathetic tone, even though her voice showed a hint of aggression.

Her summoner informed her that her opponent was to be Malzahar, the Prophet of the Void. After a few moments he appeared on the opposite side of the lane. Levitating several feet in the air behind a wave of minions he truly looked like a messiah of the dark powers of the Void. To Morgana however, such blatant displays of power were nothing more but cheap and unnecessary theatrics. And so, with a final exchange of glares between them, the battle began.

The waves of minions clashed against each other. Those further behind fired a barrage of energy orbs against the enemy while their more resilient brethren engaged in melee combat. Morgana and Malzahar stood behind them, eyeing the situation and eliminating weakened or wounded minions with a precise blast of energy from a far. Each of them was slowly gathering up their strength, waiting for the moment the other might slip. One step further than needed, one careless misuse of energy is all they required to take the advantage.

"One. One should be enough. Or might as well try two." Morgana was mumbling to herself. One of the bigger blue, cannon, minions was about to fall. She went in deep into the crowd of minions to take it down - a mistake.

"This is not the time to get distracted, fallen one."

Two portals, both seemingly leading to a black abyss of nothingness, opened on either of her sides. Everything, even the light, was sucked inside causing a vacuum in the space between the two holes for the briefest of moments. Enough for Malzahar to launch his next attack. The area around the fallen angel was engulfed with abyssal energy from the void causing it to drain the life force of anything caught in its wake. As she tried to regain her foothold, the dark prophet launched his final attack – by releasing the energies of the Void which imbued him he suppressed Morgana, forcing her to bend her knees due the monstrous pressure which was exerted over her.

"Bow to the Void, angel. Or be consumed by it" – Malzahar's rasping voice filled the air.

The Prophet was convinced that she was about to break. He had thrown his all into this assault. He began to weaken his grasp over his opponent. There was no need to strain himself by channeling so much nether energy for a nearly dead foe. It seemed that the praise of the fallen angel's powers were an exaggeration. Perhaps she had lost her touch. A single blast of energy would suffice to finish her off. Something caught his attention though, something that was out of place. A hint of a smile had appeared on Morgana's lips.

In the past year many summoners became aware that Morgana's mastery over the dark arts could tilt the tide of any battle. That, in combination with her unpredictable behavior resulted in the large majority of summoners unanimously agreeing upon an unwritten rule on the Fields of Justice – the fallen angel was not to be summoned in battle. She never did care much about the affairs of the mortals in the first place, and this turn of events was favorable to her because of the loads of free time it granted her to pursue her other interests, such as her successful business venture. Normally she wouldn't wish to rectify the situation, recently however she noticed that people had started to forget, let alone fear, her might. That is why, when requests for her appearance in League matches began to flood her once again, she decided to show them why she was banned in the first place.

"Enough of this." – Morgana's commanding voice boomed over the battlefield.

Her hand, still covered by her oven mitt, raised into the air at the level of her chest. A sphere of dark magic shot from it, aimed directly at Malzahar. It moved too fast for the Void prophet to dodge. Upon impact, the sphere blasted him, while the dark energies released by the burst pinned the floating man to the ground on his knees.

"Me? Bow to you? You forget your place mortal." She stepped towards him seemingly unfazed by the enormous pressure that had pinned her in one place just moments ago. "You simply interrupted me while I was contemplating whether I should use one or two spices to flavor my new cakes." Her hand, which was constantly pointed at the prophet, was burning with swirls of dark energy. Although the oven mitt didn't allow her fingers to be seen, they appeared to be moving underneath it in a series of signs. The soil around Malzahar suddenly began to rot away, causing the minions which were close enough to also get caught by the spell's area of effect to wither and die instantly. "For your arrogance you will need to be punished."

The prophet's hand shot forth and sent out nether energies against the angel. She simply laughed as a dark shield suddenly formed around her, dispersing the malefic visions which Malzahar had clouded her mind with. "Oooh. Seems like you still have some fight in you – good. I plan on using you to vent out some of my frustration. It would be boring if you died too fast." As she spoke, a tentacle of energy appeared and chained the still weakened mage as he tried to regain his foothold. "The early summoning, that arrogant brat of a summoner that wished to test himself by relying on my power, and to top it all off, that nasty spell you used on me earlier." The tentacle immobilized him and made its way around his neck. "But I have more than ten thousand years of experience with pain, little one. Now – share in my torment." A snap was heard, as Malzahar's lifeless body fell upon the field of battle.

After his death had been officially announced, Morgana began to make her way back towards her turret, from where she planned to teleport upon the summoner platform. She was not in a rush. Through the summoning link she was able to account for her allies and opponents and knew that the other lanes were doing well. All of the enemy champions had either fallen in battle or had retreated and the wards placed along the riverbank assured her that there were no ambushes waiting to happen any time soon. There was no imminent danger. At least, there wasn't supposed to be.

A shadow appeared on the ground only a few meters in front of her. It was circular and it had no visible source. That is, until she looked towards the sky. In an instant, a comet of black and red came crashing down, wreaking havoc on the battlefield and blowing away the minions that were too close to the epicenter of the crash. Morgana was forced to summon a shield to protect her from the pure force which sent her back several feet. Before she had time to react the object which fell from the sky catapulted itself upwards and came crashing down upon her at a blinding speed. The feeling was as if an artillery shot from one of the Bligewater's famed assault ship cannons had hit her at a point blank range. This time her dark shield could not hold and bursted from the impact. The angel fell to the ground, unable to move, still being stunned by the force with which she was rammed. In front of her was the cause of all this chaos.

Before her stood a giant of a man. In his right arm he carried a blood red shield that was almost as large as him and perfectly covered any openings his opponents might try to use against him. His breastplate was the same color as his shield, and just like it, was marked by the scars of hundreds of battles. In his left arm wrested a long spear. It's edge was sharp enough to pierce the eye of a fly and it's wielder seemed more than capable of performing the feat. With every move he made, with every breath he took, his arms reacted and followed him in the rhythm of his heartbeat. They were a part of his body, an extension of his will. A will which led him ever forward with one single purpose. War. He was Pantheon, the Artisan of War.

His metal helmet completely covered and protected his face. It was impossible to read his expression or determine what he was thinking. The only part which was still visible were his eyes. Eyes burning with a single desire – to fight and defeat his enemies until his last breath upon this earth. Those same eyes pierced Morgana. Attempting to flee was futile, she knew that much. And unlike Malzahar's magics, the enchanted relic-weapon of the Rokkar could not be so easily blocked by her shield. But the final strike did not come immediately. For a split second he stopped and began to…sniff…the air around her. She did not have time to make sense of it as his spear found its way effortlessly toward her vital areas. Three strikes, each following the other so fast that they appeared to hit simultaneously with surgical precision. They were followed by a single stab to her chest. Her lung was pierced – a critical strike.

As the fallen angel was beginning to lose consciousness the only thing she saw was Pantheon, slowly moving past her dying corpse. She heard him uttering a single sentence as he passed her. It was quiet and she couldn't quite make it out. As if it was a dream. And then, all she saw was darkness.

…...

After the match had ended Morgana was automatically transported back to where she was summoned from – in the middle of her bakery. The lighting of the main room she used to prepare her world-famous pastries was coming from six torches, each placed at a key position on the surrounding walls. The back room of her bakery was rather spacious with plenty of room to fit several large cooking tables which were carefully lined along the wall on her left. Beneath each table there were a multitude of cupboards, each containing pots, baking trays, spoons, measuring cups and a variety of other kitchen tools. On her right, the entirety of the wall was covered from top to bottom with layer upon layer of shelves, each shelf being neatly stacked with an amount of ingredients so impressive, that one began to wonder how long it had taken the mistress of this kitchen to collect all of them, and by what means. Right in front of her, one of the several large ovens lined one next to the other, was bathing the room with a bright red light. It gave off a tremendous amount of heat due to the magical fire which fueled it. The early summoning caught Morgana when she was right in the middle of estimating the ovens heat and due to it, the oven door was left wide open. As a result, the entire room felt as if it were in the heart of a burning inferno.

With a wave of her hand, the fires resided and the room started to slowly cool off. At the very least she was able to vent out her frustration during the match. Apart from the setback which the Rokkar warrior proved himself to be, the battle went clearly in their favor. Pantheon constantly rushed from lane to lane, assisting his allies and decimating any enemy he encountered, at least in the beginning. After several skirmishes in which his teammates rushed off straight at Morgana, who they thought was alone, only to be ambushed and to fall victims of her dark bindings, even the Artisan of War could not stop the might he faced. Even though she did not encounter him in a direct confrontation until the end of the match, she knew that he faced off against Udyr several times in the jungle and eventually lost his advantage. Her own formidable powers, imbued by the enchantments which the shop on Summoner's Rift provided, allowed the fallen angel to crush three of the enemy team's champions effortlessly and resulted in a quick and sound victory. It seemed as if their summoners had little to no experience in battle strategy or team tactics. Not that it was of any surprise, the entire match was a meaningless battle to settle a petty political argument between two Demacian lords. An event so insignificant, that many did not believe or understand why Morgana bothered in taking part in it. In truth, after so many months of absence on the Fields of Justice, she simply craved for a taste of battle once more.

She removed her oven mitts and began to inspect what had become of her creations which she planned on baking shortly before the battle. It was a new recipe she experimented with and she was still unsure as to the exact amount of flavoring which was needed. After hours of being left in the open, the dough for the cakes had become dry and stale – unfit for her needs or the standards of her bakery. As she prepared to start over again she took a piece of paper from the cooking table next to her and began to review the ingredients she would use. After reading them carefully one time she was still not satisfied. Something was not right.

While she was deep in thought, for no apparent reason, she began to recall the last moments of her bout with the Rokkar warrior. The way he briefly paused before finishing her off in the fight, something rather unexpected from a proud warrior who did not make novice mistakes such as playing with his opponents or wasting time in the middle of a fight. His last words to her suddenly came into her mind, now clear: "Too much."

An ethereal tentacle slipped its way from behind her and into one of the cupboards of the cooking table. It then drew back and placed in her hand a special pen, a little necessity which she had ordered to be handmade for her by the Piltover engineers. It never ran out of ink as it used pure mana in order to trigger an alchemical reaction within the pen, which produced a bluish, ink-like liquid upon contact with any surface. She began to scratch off several of the needed ingredients and contemplated on replacing others in order to create a single, well-balanced flavor which would leave a pleasant after-taste after each bite. She stopped for a moment after she realized the origin of her sudden inspiration. Was it possible that…

"Hmm…Highly unlikely." She refuted and discarded the idea. The very notion of it was preposterous.


End file.
